Moments in Hell
by SpaceRoses
Summary: War is hell. However, it's one thing to say those words, it's another story if you live them. A collection of short stories focusing on the Isabal Massacre and the charecters involved in the war.
1. Chapter 1: Jean Havoc: Toy Soldiers

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Full Metal Alchemist_.

**Author's Notes: **This collection of short stories are going to focus on the Ishbal massacre and the all the people involved, both military and the Ishaballans. This is not going to be a light, happy collection. It's going to deal with themes that can be quite disturbing and I ask that the "T" (PG-13) rating be taken seriously. My first story for this series focuses on Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc. Read and Review if you want but flames will be ignored. Thanks!

**Toy Soldiers**

Section 23. That was what this place had been labeled on the map that Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc and the other people in his unit had been shown that morning during their permission debriefing.

It had looked so simple then, just a line on a piece of paper, surrounded by other lines and other numbers. It represented the Ishballian city without the hassles of having to show the faces of the people who lived in it.

However things weren't so simple on the battlefield when there were no lines or numbers but there were plenty of people.

Havoc gripped his assault rifle tight enough to turn his knuckles white as he kicked in the remains of a door. The State Alchemists had already gone through here and they had been through. All Havoc and the rest of the soldiers had to do was the clean up work, killing anyone who was unlucky enough to be left alive by the alchemists.

The other people in his unit were spread out in the region, searching and occasionally Havoc could hear a single gunshot ring out over the deathly silence of the ruins. He was praying that he wouldn't find anyone; he didn't think he could look an injured, frightened person in the eye and shoot them in cold blood.

His eyes stung from the mix of sand and dust that the collapsing door had raised but he couldn't take the risk of rubbing his eyes. He didn't know what could be in here and he didn't want to die because he had been rubbing his eyes instead of paying attention.

He lifted his rifle to his shoulder and stepped into the room, searching every corner and possible hiding spot with his eyes, looking for any sign of an ambush. Seeing nothing he took another step into the room.

This place had been a house once, he could see shards of dishes on the floor and the remains of a meal were scattered around the room. With sickening realization he knew that these people had been attacked when they were least expecting it. The people in this house had been sitting down to their evening meal when the alchemists had come through. They'd had no warning, no chance to fight back.

Moving cautiously into the room he moved towards what had once been a wall but it had collapsed into the main room. Beyond the gap he could see a bedroom with the bed covered in rubble. He took another step towards the gap and his foot kicked something.

Reacting, he pointed at it with his gun, his finger tensing on the trigger. After a moment he identified the object and lowered his weapon. It was a doll, like the ones that very little girls played with.

Dropping to one knee he picked the toy up, cradling it in his free hand. He knew better then to lower his guard like this but he couldn't help it. With his thumb he wiped some of the grime off of the face and sighed quietly, wondering what the child who had owned this toy was like, knowing that the child would never have the chance to grow up now, thanks to the wisdom of the Armastis government.

Placing the doll on the floor again he stood up to continue the search. He continued to move towards the bedroom, noticing for the first time that part of the outside wall had collapsed. He glanced at the hole and decided that only a very agile person would be able to scramble over the rubble to reach the space so it was not worth bringing to his superiors attention.

The rest of the house was too demolished to be safely moved through and Havoc turned to leave when a small sound reached his ears. Turning towards the sound he pulled his rifle back up to his shoulder and froze.

His scope wasn't focused on an enemy; it was focused on a little girl. Havoc gulped, his orders had been to kill any survivors' period. There were no exceptions. He knew his orders but now he wasn't sure that he could follow them.

The little girl pushed herself further into the corner, whimpering in fright as her red eyes fixed on Havoc's uniform and the rifle he was holding.

Havoc forced himself to apply pressure to the trigger; he wouldn't be able to miss at this range. His fingers shook and he eased up slightly, looking at the girl. She was young, barely five. Her family was probably lying under the ruins and it had been some odd miracle that she had survived at all. Havoc started to aim again but stopped as he noticed the dried blood on her head.

The little girl's eyes moved from Havoc to the gap in the wall and back to the man who stood between her and freedom.

Havoc tried to fire again but he stopped. 'Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to shoot a five year old in cold blood?' he questioned himself.

'What has she ever done that I need to murder her? She hasn't killed anyone, she isn't leading a rebellion; she's just a five year old child! Is it because her skin is dark or her eyes are the wrong color? Why does she have to die?' Havoc mentally screamed, not noticing that his rifle had started to shake slightly.

He tried to fire for the third time and again he stopped, this time lowering the gun. He couldn't do it. He couldn't shoot this child. He didn't care what his orders where, this child did not deserve to die.

Havoc stepped to the side, leaving the way to the gap open, "Run." He ordered.

The little girl watched as the man moved away, unsure of what he was doing. He had moved out of her way but she didn't know if he was waiting for her to run. What if he was?

Havoc knew that the child probably didn't understand what he was saying and he didn't have much more time to spend here before people came looking for him. "Run now." He ordered again, gesturing at the hole with his gun.

The child needed no more bidding and jumped to her feet. She bolted for the hole and scrambled over the rubble before disappearing through the open hole.

Havoc watched her and he knew that he could still shoot her. All he needed to do was raise his gun and aim. Assault rifles had incredible range and he'd even have a way to justify the murder. She was running. Havoc didn't make a move to raise his gun though. He wouldn't kill that child. It was wrong.

If any of his superiors found out that he had let that child go, he'd be demoted at least but he didn't care. He had saved a life and that was worth far more then any pin on his collar.

Havoc turned away from the hole and moved out of the ruins. He didn't know if he had saved that child's life or just prolonged the inevitable. Most likely she would die in the desert or she would run into other soldiers who wouldn't help her but there was a chance that she'd survive and find who could help her.

Havoc stepped outside and squinted at the fading sun. He would never forget the look in the child's eyes when she realized that he was letting her go. That unbelieving, hopeful, desperate look. It was the expression of a person who had just realized that they were going to live.

How many of his comrades would never get to see that look? How many of them were killing without thinking? Havoc wiped his arm across his forehead and sighed.

"Havoc, quit dawdling. We're almost done!" Havoc looked towards his comrade who had shouted at him and nodded before pulling his rifle back up to his shoulder.

They were almost done for tonight and with first light they'd be shipped off to another batch of ruins to start over again. For tonight though, he would hang onto the memory of the little girl and pray that it would be enough to keep him from going insane.


	2. Chapter 2: Joachim: Better World

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything so please don't sue me!

**Author's Note: **This next installment focuses on Joachim, the Ishballan leader who Scar met with at the refuge camp before he took off for Lior. Read and Review if you like, but Flames will be ignored. Thanks!

**Searching for a Better World**

The field of destruction would have been terrible to witness even if you weren't Ishballan but to Joachim the scene was sickening.

This entire war was killing him slowly and he would spend hours in silent prayer to Ishbala, begging him for answers. Why had this war started? What had they done? What sin had they committed that Ishbal deserved to be wiped from the face of the world? What could he do to spare his people?

This war had been started on a lie. He had head the stories that the Armastian government had spun, the tragic tale of a child accidentally being killed by an Armastian solider and the Ishballans violent reaction. Clearly the Ishballans were a cruel and dangerous people and they needed to be eradicated, the same way you would destroy vermin.

As sad as that story was it was a fairy tale compared to the truth.

The truth was even more sickening. He would always recall the day the war had started for it was branded into his mind. The screams of all of the innocent Ishballans as they were struck down by the hard faced soldiers who didn't care that they were murdering harmless people. They desecrated the temple of Ishbala, killed the faithful inside and left. Joachim had been the only survivor and when other Ishballans had heard of the massacre they cried out in anger and took up arms against the military.

A war had started that day and it would only end when Ishbal and her people had ceased to exist.

A hot desert wind sprung up, whipping Joachim's robes around him but he didn't notice. He was too deep in prayer to notice something as simple as the wind.

'Why Ishbala, why? What have we done to deserve this?' he thought, watching as his people searched through the remains of the battle field, looking for the wounded and mourning over the dead.

A woman's piercing shriek rent the evening air and Joachim looked towards her as her tortured sobs reached him, "My son! My son is dead! Oh Ishbala why? Why did you take my son?" she begged.

The boy in the woman's arms was young, barely old enough to hold the gun that was clasped in his cold fingers. Barely two feet away from the body the boy's father spat on the Armastian solider who had killed the boy before dying himself.

The woman's mourning wails brought other women to her and they gathered around her, some comforting her and others taking the body away to prepare it for burial.

Joachim watched the scene through dulled eyes. This scene had been repeating itself every day for far too long now. Every day someone's child or spouse or parent or sibling died and every time someone died the Ishballans would swear revenge on the military and they would attack again and more would die and the cycle would repeat. It was a never ending, self destructive circle.

The Ishballans moved away from the battlefield to tend to the wounded and bury their dead. The Armastian soldiers that had died they left, willing to let nature take its course with the remains.

Slowly Joachim stepped towards the deserted field and stopped near one of the bodies. It was the body of a man, his pale skin paler then normal and his dusty brown hair stiff with blood. Joachim looked into the man's pain filled green eyes for a moment before he leaned over and carefully closed them, bowing his head respectfully and whispering a prayer that Ishbala would forgive this man of his sins.

It was an odd thing to do, after all that man was an enemy. He had killed Ishballans. He was a solider of Armastis. He deserved to die.

Joachim knew that but as he had looked at the body he had realized something else. This man was no different that an Ishballan man. There skin and eyes were different colors but they were still the same. Armastians and Ishballans weren't that different.

They both lived on this world; they both had developed cultures that, though different, were also similar. Both peoples got married, had families. Both sides were fighting for their beliefs and both sides would die before they surrendered.

Joachim pulled away from his train of thought with a surprised hiss. What was he thinking? Ishballans and Armastians couldn't be more different. After all, Armastians believed in that cursed alchemy. That tool of the devil's with which they destroyed the world that Ishbala had created for them.

However, almost against his will his mind trailed back to those thoughts. Both sides weren't that different. They both lived, they both survived and ultimately they both died.

Once they were dead there was nothing between them anymore. Ishbala would judge all of them regardless of their skin color or beliefs. It didn't matter what country they hailed from or what color their eyes were. Once they were dead they were equal and Ishbala would judge the Ishballan child who had died the same as he would judge the solider that had killed him.

The realization struck Joachim like a physical blow and he collapsed to his knees, bowing his head. "Ishbala, I think I see it now, you do not what this war anymore then we do. In your eyes we are all equal and none of us have any right to kill the others. Only you should decided who lives and who dies." He spoke out loud in a halting choking voice, his mind over come with the answer to his prayers.

"You want me to work towards peace, a peaceful resolution with Armastis. You want me to convince your people that you want the bloodshed to stop. Only then will we be spared!"

Peace. The only answer was peace. Joachim got to his feet slowly, a new determination on his face. Slowly he began to walk towards the small Ishballan village, his new knowledge steadying his step.

The Ishballans had lost sight of Ishbala's way. They had buried themselves so deep in the bloodshed that Ishbala had no choice but to punish them. Joachim needed to show people the way back to Ishbala, the way back to where they belonged. Once they were back there Ishbala himself would spare his people, protecting them from their enemies and allowing them to live in peace again.


	3. Chapter 3: Liam DeVere: Innocent

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own FMA…however Liam DeVere is my OC and Role-Play character. If you want to borrow him please ask me! FMA belongs to its creators…who are not me.

**Author's Note: **Alright, this chapter mentions drinking and killing people. It focuses on my OC Liam DeVere who was a sniper in Ishbal. Read and Review if you like, I love feedback but Flames will be scoffed at…Thanks!

**To Protect the Innocent**

Liam DeVere looked into the empty glass and examined the last few drops of amber liquid in the bottom of it. The empty bottle sat on the ground next to him along with several other ones, all holding a few scant drops in the bottom of them. Hard to believe he'd only started drinking about two hours ago.

It had been two months to the day that he'd been sent to Ishbal, the first in a long line of soldiers who'd been sent to the killing grounds to deal with the Ishballan pests who were polluting the land.

That was all they had been called: Pests to be eradicated like rats. Their lives had no more value then one of the lizards that skirted across the hot desert ground during the day. That was what the people back home were told, the newspapers painted terrifying pictures of red eyed, dark skinned monsters who massacred whole groups of soldiers in the name of their cursed deity.

They always forgot to add the most terrifying images, the ones of cold eyed alchemists moving through a village or town, not caring who or what was in their way. The hard faced snipers, himself included, who hid behind whatever cover they could and picked off any Ishballans who, by some curse, made it past the alchemists. The soldiers who moved in after the alchemists and swept up the debris.

He sighed as he picked up the empty bottle and tipped the last few drops into his cup. He remembered the first time he had ever killed someone, it was two days after he'd arrived in this hellhole of a country.

Up to that point every time he had shot a gun he was aiming at a target on a wall, or maybe, once he got better, ones that moved somewhat. But never before at a real person. Never before at a real, flesh and blood, heart and soul person. Liam had never claimed to be religious and if anything this war had further driven him into his own disbelief.

If, like the Ishballans believed, there was a god then why would he ignore his people and let them get slaughtered like animals? Liam shook his head, he must have been drunk. He was getting philosophical.

Back to his first day at war. His orders where simple, kill anyone who made it through the alchemists' lines. The alchemists where good at what they did and the section he was watching had no trouble until an Ishballan, half dead already, somehow made it past a small alchemist with glasses who had hesitated for just a moment.

Liam's training kicked in and he had shot the Ishballan but somewhere between the time he had pulled the trigger and the time the bullet had killed the Ishballan he had realized that this wasn't some paper target on a wall or some clay bird that was being thrown through the air. He had killed a human and no matter what anyone would say to him, no matter how noble history books would call his actions in the line of duty, he had just become a murderer. He had lost his innocence.

Liam drained the last few drops in his cup and threw it to the side, where the tin cup clattered against the edge of his cot. The setting sun was shining into his eyes, heralding another night of blood and death.

Once the bullet had left his gun time seemed to slow and the moment burned into his mind. After the man had fallen, the death shock still burning in his eyes Liam found himself choking on bile.

The bile rose and for the first time in his life he lost control of his stomach. After the heaving was through and he could breath again he swallowed the burning acid in his throat and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. He slowly raised himself back to his knees, still shaking and gasping. One of the female snipers, a woman with dark brown eyes, cast him a small smile of support though he could read the message in her eyes, "Welcome to hell…it doesn't get any easier from here."

Not exactly supporting words but it was the truth. As he slowly picked up his gun again the words of his teacher, an old military man who was his family's neighbor when he was a teenager, rang in his head. "Liam, the gun is a tool to kill people with. If you want to learn how to shoot you are going to be learning how to kill a man. If you can't accept that then you'd better go home right now and learn how to be a farmer."

The words were ringing truer every single day, too bad he couldn't tell the old man that. One more regret to add to his ever growing pile, and he was only 24. Standing up he dusted off his pants and picked his military jacket off of his cot and shrugged it on, not bothering to button it.

He didn't waste time hiding the bottles, everyone knew he drank and someday he was sure it'd bite him but not today. Every man dealt with war in their own way. Some slept with whores, some closed themselves off, others let the problems get to them until they went crazy and he drank his problems away. As long as he drank he could make the voices in his head, the ones that repeated words like "murderer" and "killer", shut up, at least for a few precious hours.

He picked up his rifle and checked it, cursing the sand that had worked into every gear and joint of the gun, slowing the reaction time and freezing up the workings. However nothing had worked into the gears this time, lucky him.

He stepped out into the camp, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. So far, in the two months he'd been there he'd only found one truth. The war here was supposed to protect the people of Armestis. And the only way those people could be protected was by the blood of Ishballans and the destroyed ideals of soldiers.

To protect the innocent….the protector must lose his innocence. That was the only truth he lived by now and the only truth he would follow for the rest of his life.

Liam blinked, willing his mind to lose its drunken fogginess as he knew it could. He had a job to do and people to protect. He couldn't waste time on what was true or not. Still the words rang in his head and in the back of his mind he began to take some odd comfort in them.

They were something to hang onto in a world that had become hell.


	4. Chapter 4: Sarah Rockbell: Make it Home

**Disclaimer: **I own nada, nill, zip, nothing. It all belongs to the creators of FMA…I just borrow their invention from time to time.

**Author's Note: **Reason this update took so long in updating was because I was convinced Doro wanted to be written and all this time it was Sarah Rockbell…weird how my inspiration works. Anyhow…my new chapter is up and I hope you like it. I don't know what Winry's dad's name is or if he was even given one…so I'm just calling him James. As always Reviews will be loved, Flames will be scorned. Thanks

**Will I Ever Make It Home?**

The drifting smoke turned the setting sun into an orange fireball, the light dying the sand a sickly blood red color. No sounds floated over the landscape except the moaning of the wind, singing its own dirge for the dead.

Sarah Rockbell shivered as she glanced out of the window of the small make shift hospital her husband James and she had built out of an Ishballan shop. Her hands paused in their mechanical monition of wrapping bandages as the wind blew through the glass less window and rustled the papers that were lying on the desk and sent one sheet drifting across the room.

A cry of pain from the room beyond startled her and she jumped slightly, the bandages falling out of her hand and landing on the floor with a soft thump. Sighing she bent over and retrieved them as a man walked into the room.

"Almost done with those Sarah?" James asked as he reached up and untied the surgical smock he had been wearing. Pulling it off he studied his wife again, his eyebrows drawing together when he realized she hadn't answered him. "Sarah?"

His question, delivered in a concerned voice stirred Sarah from her thoughts and she finished retrieving the roll and stood up, winding the rough clothe against her hand in a quick jerky motion.

James's frown deepened and he reached forward and shook Sarah's shoulder slightly, "Are you all right?"

She turned slightly glazed eyes toward him, "When will it end James? When can we go home and lead _our _life again?" Her question was delivered in the soundless tone of someone who had already accepted their fate and only questioned it out of formality.

"Soon Sarah…soon." James squeezed her shoulder and smiled, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes like Sarah had hoped it would.

"At this rate Winry will have children of her own by the time we see her again." Sarah broke eye contact with her husband, instead looking towards the floor as her voice seethed with bitterness.

'Why am I bitter?' she wondered idly, her glare still trained at the concrete floor, 'This was my choice as much as it was James.' Her thoughts died and started again, 'I remember when we first came here…I was so optimistic…James and I were going to bridge every cultural gap there was between Ishbal and Armastis. We were going to end the war, just the two of us, not using the power of guns and alchemy but instead using the power of medicine and peace. What fools we were.'

'War does not stop just because two doctors decide to be non-partial. The Fuhrer will not call back the troops just because an Armastian citizen is standing on Ishballan soil. The underground movements will not stop plotting just because they are currently sitting in a neutral hospital.'

Her lips dipped into a frown and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she saw every dream she had ever dreamt burn up in the fires of war. She could see her house in Rezenbul, her beloved daughter Winry, James's study with all of his books that smelled of leather and pipe smoke. He had gotten them from his father and mother and some day they hoped that Winry would make good use of them. Now they'd be lucky if they ever saw another landscape besides the sands of Ishbal ever again.

They had been here so long she couldn't remember how grass felt beneath her feet or the taste of a fresh strawberry. She couldn't recall the scent of a country evening when all you could smell was water and flowers and life. Here all you could smell was blood and dust and death.

She didn't move when James released her shoulder and instead picked up the stray piece of paper that had blown onto the floor. Glancing over it he smiled, "Writing a letter home?"

Sarah's eyes moved towards his dully. "That's all I can do for my daughter…"

The tension grew between them until Sarah felt that a landmine had filled the room and one false word would set it off. As it grew harder for her to breathe Sarah felt acute relief when an Ishballan nurse came into the room, "Doctor….there are military officers here…they want to see you." Her Armastian was broken but the fear in the nurse's eyes was real enough.

James nodded, "Tell them I'll be right there." He looked towards Sarah once more, "Why don't you finish up in here? I'm sure the military are just here to try and stop us again." He held out the piece of paper to her as he spoke.

Sarah took it, glancing over the words she had already written. With another smile James moved towards the door and left the room.

Moving over to the desk Sarah laid the bandages on its surface and picked up the fountain pen that was lying there. She stared at the paper for a moment and then began to write, the movements hurried but fluid.

_I hope you're doing well in your studies…in your grandmother's last letter she said you were starting to play with automail. If you decide to pursue it further I hope you're careful…especially around all of the heavy tools. I don't want to hear about you breaking any fingers or hands while your father and I aren't there to fix them. _

_How are the Elrics doing? I trust you're keeping Ed and Al out of trouble (Especially Ed). I know you're always taking such good care of those boys. _

At this point Sarah smiled slightly as images of Rezenbul came back to her in brief snatches. After a moment she continued:

_The war seems to be coming to an end…we should be home before the winter holidays. Until then, my dear Winry, stay safe and know that we'll always be taking care of you no matter where we, and you, end up in this world. _

_Love Mom and Dad_

She signed the names with a slight flourish of her pen and smiled. Blowing on the ink to dry it she looked around for an envelope and finally pulled one out of the near empty box. Quickly she tri-folded the letter and slipped it inside, licking the envelope to close it. She would send it out on the first post she could, hopefully one would come soon.

She tucked the letter into a safe cubby hole on the desk and moved towards the door. She could hear raised voices from the exam room, it sounded like this time Gran had come too instead of just quiet old Doctor Marco.

Rubbing her shoulder slightly she headed towards the room to find out what was going on.

**Author's Note 2: **In case anyone is wondering: Yes…this chapter is set just before the tragic events of Episode 15 where Mustang kills the Rockbells. Was not his fault…though he took the blame on himself….we should really be angry at Gran –mumbles incoherent words about Gran-


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